


(I Live to) Let You Shine

by snark_sniper



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Friday, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, everyone ships giripan, food court au, look just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snark_sniper/pseuds/snark_sniper
Summary: Kiku just needs to get through this one uneventful year of work before he goes to university. The stranger in the alleyway is going to make this tough.(Or, the Giripan food court AU no one asked for.)





	(I Live to) Let You Shine

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this fic for years, largely as a homage to my time spent at the food court at my own mall. The Japanese and Greek restaurants closed down recently. FYI, I am aware that kebab is not necessarily a Greek food and that certain Asian foods I mention shouldn't be sold in the same restaurant - but have you ever been to a "foreign" restaurant in middle America? They blend things all over the place.
> 
> Forgive me if anyone seems out of character. Japan and Greece are tough to write because they're quiet but I need them to talk a lot. I tried to balance them between "quiet super-polite stereotype that Hetalia portrays" and "actual teenagers/young adults".
> 
> Title comes from "Boats and Birds" by Gregory and the Hawk, which I found in a fantastic giripan playlist (https://8tracks.com/zadi-jyne/till-the-stars-die). It turns out that pretty much everybody uses this song for their title, but I'm using it too and adding parentheses. So there.
> 
> (Do I get bonus points for publishing this the day of Black Friday?)

“Which gender do you prefer?”

Kiku pauses, trash bag in hand. Not sure if he heard right, he turns toward the stranger leaning against the brick wall that makes up half of this back alley. Kiku half expects the stranger to have a lit cigarette in hand, for how languid and philosophical he seems, but the stranger only gazes towards the sky with his hands behind his back.

The stranger doesn’t look at him, but there’s no one else around for him to repeat his question to. “I said, which gender?”

Kiku holds the trash bag in front of him with both hands. He’s halfway to an apologetic bow before the full embarrassment of the question comes over him. What does—why would—…what?

If Kiku were asked in a less off-putting manner, and if he could forego politeness for truth, he’d admit that he hasn’t given it much thought. These sorts of questions aren’t the sort anyone would normally ask of him. Most questions are about what he’s doing—“Which test do you have next?”—or what he’s going to do—“So did the gap year work out?”—or what he could hypothetically be doing—“Can’t you make the dumplings any faster?” Small talk aside, no one asks him what he prefers.

Especially about gender. What does this question mean, anyway? What gender does Kiku prefer to interact with? Look at? Be surrounded by? But the niggling voice in the back of Kiku’s head, the one that embarrasses him currently, knows exactly what this stranger means.

“You’re probably right,” says the stranger after an (in Kiku’s view) uncomfortably long silence. “The question is unfair.”

Kiku finds his voice. “I’m sorry?”

“That question supposes that attraction only focuses on one gender. But ‘both’ is a possibility, and so are ‘neither’ and ‘all’.” The stranger says this all in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

Kiku nods minutely. The word “attraction” keeps ringing in his ears. The voice in the back of his head is too smug about being right, and Kiku squelches it before it decides to answer the stranger’s question.

“For me it’s both,” says the stranger. “Women are beautiful, of course. Very soft, but surprisingly firm.”

Kiku’s cheeks begin to redden.

“But the male form.” The stranger finally takes his eyes off the distant clouds and looks, if not directly at Kiku, then at least in his direction. “There’s something about that too. I can’t put my finger on it.”

This seems to be the end of his train of thought, for he falls silent, looking more at the tiny tree behind Kiku than Kiku himself. All the same Kiku feels examined, exposed, and he lifts the trash bag to cover more of him.

“I should—” He nods towards the dumpster.

The stranger nods once. “Ah.”

Kiku scurries to the dumpster. Part of him is terrified, another part—not—that the stranger is examining him behind his back. But when he turns around to go back inside, the stranger is staring at the sky again.

Kiku crosses his path as quickly as he can without being rude. But with one hand on the door, something about the stranger makes him stop. He’s in such peace, leaning against the brick wall. The breeze ruffles his chin-length hair, and he closes his eyes. He appears to be thinking nothing about gender anymore, or, indeed, about anything.

“I don’t know,” says Kiku. The stranger opens his eyes and, for the first time, meets Kiku’s. They’re green, and they look at him mildly, expecting nothing but welcoming anything.

“I suppose,” Kiku says, quietly this time, “I will find out one day.”

The stranger nods and turns his face back to the clouds.

* * *

 

Kiku returns to his post. He works at the food court at the local mall, at a hodgepodge Asian restaurant owned by his uncle Yao. Yao is off today and has confidently left Leon, his seventeen-year-old son, in charge of Kiku’s first shift post-training.

“You’re back late,” says Leon. He’s sitting at the stool beside the sole register, checking his phone. “Did you get lost?”

“Sorry,” says Kiku. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, as long as you don’t do it with Yao around.” Leon’s insistence on calling his father by his name in the work setting unnerves Kiku, but not enough to mention anything. “And as long as you don’t abandon me.”

“I wouldn’t,” says Kiku.

“Yeah. I know.” Leon hops from the stool, shoving his phone into his pocket. He takes a closer look at Kiku. “You okay?”

“Why?” asks Kiku. His face still feels flushed, but more from the heat of the steam trays on display than from his interaction with the stranger in the alley.

“You look a bit overwhelmed. We haven’t even really started working, you know.”

Kiku knows. It’s ten in the morning, and his first task was to take out the trash Yong Soo forgot to take out last night. “I…there was someone in the alley.”

“Oh, hair to about here?” Leon holds his hand flat at chin level. “Looks stoned?”

“Roughly, yes.”

“Oh yeah, that’s Heracles.”

“He’s a regular?”

“I mean, if you call working here a regular.”

Kiku blinks. Heracles, his future coworker.

“See, he’s getting back from break just now.” Leon points two booths to the left, partway across the semicircle that makes up the food court, to a Mediterranean-themed stand selling kebab and Greek food. The stranger emerges at the front from the kitchens, snatching an apron from the expressive hands of who appears to be his boss. For how serene he looked in the alley, he acts a lot sharper behind the counter.

“He takes breaks like, all the time,” says Leon. “He’s a bit spacey, but he’s harmless.”

“Does he speak often?” Kiku is imagining Heracles as a sphinx, for unknown reasons since he hasn’t thought about sphinxes since his Egypt unit in middle school world history. To pass to the dumpster, the traveler must answer a question from him. Kiku wonders if Heracles let him off easy the first time.

“Not really,” says Leon. He raises an eyebrow. “Why, did he speak to you?”

The steam trays are starting to feel awfully warm. “A little,” said Kiku.

“Well?”

“He asked me what…gender I preferred.”

Leon blinks. “What?” Kiku doesn’t have a chance to answer. “Well what’d you tell him?”

“Nothing,” says Kiku too quickly. “He took back the question. He decided it was too, ah, narrow.”

“Narrow?”

“He said he liked both genders,” mutters Kiku. “If he’d asked the question to himself, he couldn’t have answered that he likes both.”

Leon is silent for a moment. “Kiku.”

“What?”

“I think he was hitting on you.”

“What?” If Kiku were drinking something, he’d have spat it out.

“Well what else are you supposed to think when a guy takes one look at you and then tells you he’s into guys?”

“I’m sure he wasn’t,” defends Kiku, but his tone doesn’t convince even himself. “This is—we shouldn’t be talking about this. You’re younger than me, you shouldn’t be giving me dating advice.”

“Only by like two years,” says Leon. “And in dating years I’m older than you.”

“Anyone would be older than an infant.”

“Yeah, well,” says Leon as he puts on the uniform-mandated cap. “Maybe you’re about to hit a growth spurt.”

* * *

 

It’s not really Kiku’s fault he has no dating experience. He prides himself in reading the air of a situation, but flirting—unless it comes from Arthur’s friend Francis—is all but invisible to him. His best friend, Alfred, told him last year that he’d insisted on so many sleepovers between them as kids because he had a crush on Kiku and liked to watch him sleep. When Alfred told him, though, he said it with a laugh and then wrapped his arm around his boyfriend of (then) four months, Ivan Braginsky.

“…I feel like I should apologize,” said Kiku, eying Ivan for signs of anger or jealousy.

“Nah, no need,” says Alfred. “We were kids, right?”

Kiku spent the next week scouring his childhood memories going back to when Alfred moved to across the street when he was six. He came up with nothing that stood out as abnormal for Alfred—no hugs he didn’t also give to others, no notes that sounded like something a potential boyfriend would write. When Kiku recalled that Alfred had given Arthur a carnation when they were twelve years old and then laughed with Arthur blushed, Kiku gave up trying to piece things together.

He went through all of high school peacefully unaware of the hormones wafting through the halls. It’s not like he was asexual—his bouts of late-night manga readings suggested otherwise—but school hardly seemed like the place to try anything. There were tests to study for and projects to finish and Alfred to corral away from the football field and to the library where Kiku tutored math in exchange for Alfred’s physics help, because Kiku understood the abstract ideas of math but never could apply them. That trait felt like a metaphor, in fact, but literature was always Arthur’s domain and Kiku had no trouble leaving it to him.

Now, however, Kiku is not at school. He’s at work, saving money for his first year of university. He got the school he wanted but not the scholarships, and his town has never been very good at teen employment, so Yao’s restaurant it is.

His first week as an official employee goes well enough. He’s courteous to the customers, even when they make impossible requests like stir-fry without sauce or gluten-free wontons. He cleans with every spare moment he has, and only chats with his cousins Leon, Yong Soo, and Mei when there’s nothing more he can think to do. He comes home with barely enough energy to greet his mother before he disappears to his room to play video games with a bowl of reheated leftovers.

The only source of tension in this job, apart from his constant need to recover from a day of standing and smiling, is that if he leans, he can see quite clearly the Greek restaurant across the half-circle that makes up the food court.

He manages to avoid trash duty for another week before Mei finally sends him out. He suspects Leon has told her about Heracles, because she explicitly leans over the counter to check the staffing at the Greek restaurant before she tells him it’s his turn for trash.

“And feel free to take your time,” she says with a grin as Kiku dumps the small bucket of receipts and straw trash they keep at the cash register into his larger bag.

“It’s only a quick errand,” says Kiku, but Mei’s grin doesn’t fade.

Kiku sees before he’s even opened the door fully that Heracles is there. It’s been a week since his first full day, but it feels like they’re repeating it, complete with the same uniforms. Kiku wears a black apron, and Heracles wears a t-shirt advertising My Big Fat Greek Restaurant.

“How was your first week?” asks Heracles.

 _The Sphinx strikes again,_ thinks Kiku to himself. Maybe he can pretend this is a video game level. Not as menacing as a boss, but he needs to pass this portion to find a new weapon. Or something.

“It was fine,” Kiku replies. He’s embarrassed by how glad he is that his voice doesn’t wobble. “Nothing eventful so far.”

“It’s not especially busy, is it.”

“Not really,” says Kiku as he makes his way to the dumpster. He diplomatically leaves out that his restaurant sees a lot more business than Heracles’s does.

“Just wait until Black Friday.”

“Ah,” says Kiku, nodding knowingly. Never mind that it takes him a few seconds to remember Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving when everything supposedly goes on sale for Christmas, the busiest shopping day in America.

He has nothing more to do than to turn back to the door. He crosses Heracles’s gaze. Heracles seems more awake than he was last week, though fortunately he doesn’t stare directly at Kiku—or _into_ Kiku, it felt like, last time.

He simply nods at Kiku, as if giving him permission to leave. Kiku nods back and lets himself back into the narrow hallway taking him to his family’s restaurant.

“So? How did it go?” asks Mei the minute she hears the door shut.

“Uneventful,” says Kiku. He washes his hands without looking at her.

“Really.” Mei leans against the wall beside the sink. “You’re killing me, Kiku. Please at _least_ tell me Heracles was there.”

“He was,” says Kiku. He reaches past Mei to grab paper towels.

Mei widens her eyes at him. “ _So?_ How did it go?”

“He told me it’ll be busier at Black Friday.”

“…That’s it?”

“…He nodded at me when I left.” Kiku isn’t sure what she wants to hear.

Mei looks at him blankly for a few seconds, and then sighs. “Kiku, you truly are a master of seduction.”

She sees a customer approaching the counter and goes to greet her, leaving Kiku choked with indignant retorts he doesn’t know how to phrase.

* * *

 

“Ah, Kiku!”

Kiku looks up from the grill he’s cleaning to see Arthur. Arthur works at the bookstore down the hall from the food court, but for Arthur this is only a summer job before he goes back to England for university. Kiku was quietly pleased when he heard that he’d have an ally at this mall, but they’re two and a half weeks into summer and this is Arthur’s first visit. Hardly promising for the rest of the summer.

“Arthur,” says Kiku, bowing slightly even though Arthur is a friend as much as a customer. “It’s good to see you. How is work?”

“Ah, they’re breathing down my neck to get memberships.” Arthur rolls his eyes. “A hundred and twenty dollars for a year of twenty percent discounts—who has the money for that? No, but I do get to write my own recommendations, so it’s not all bad. I see you’re working as hard as ever,” he says with a gesture to the grill.

“Of course,” says Kiku. “I was never much of a cook, but I’m learning more every day.”

“It helps that Yao and I do most of the prep work,” says Leon as he emerges from the back. His cool façade breaks into a small smile when he sees Arthur; for a number of years, Arthur babysat for Leon and Mei at Kiku’s recommendation. (Kiku quietly begged Arthur to take the job, since he didn’t want to spend eternity being the default family babysitter.)

“Leon.” Arthur smiles back. “Glad to see you’re doing well. You always did have more of a business mindset.”

“And believe me, this job thrills me with its challenges.” Leon’s lips quirk into a wry smirk. “I can’t wait to work here for the rest of my life.”

“Cheer up, lad,” says Arthur. “I’m sure you’ll find your own way once you have the money for it.” He turns back to Kiku. “So I meant to mention my shift ends at six today. Would you like to have dinner? We can eat here if you like, but…”

“No, that’s alright,” says Kiku. Of his friends, only Arthur is polite enough to assume Kiku might want a change of pace from the food he eats, cooks, cleans, and throws away for five shifts a week. “I finish at five.”

“Great. How do kebabs sound?”

“Sure—I mean, ah—” It takes a second for Kiku to connect “kebab” with the person who sells it.

“Kiku loves kebab,” says Leon with a raised eyebrow.

“Fantastic, because I’ve had a craving for days,” says Arthur. “Alright, see you at the cafe at six then. My fifteen is almost up, so I’ve got to go.” He waves at Kiku and Leon before taking his leave.

Kiku turns to Leon. “Where exactly do you want this to go?”

“You. Where I want _you_ to go. And, to kebabs. With Arthur.”

“And Heracles.”

“I never said Heracles,” says Leon with a soft snort. “That was you assuming.”

“Sometimes I think you’re more devious than Mei.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

Kiku’s shift ends just before the dinner rush, so he flees work at 5:05 when he sees My Big Fat Greek Restaurant engaged with a customer. He goes to the mall bathroom halfway between the food court and the bookstore, checks his hair, and rubs his face with a paper towel to get rid of some of the grease.

Then he stares at his reflection.

“It’s only dinner,” he says. Heracles will keep things professional, he knows it. He thinks. What could he ask him in front of Arthur, anyway?

Still, the possibilities startle Kiku so much that when Arthur picks him up from the bookstore’s café at 6, he asks if Kiku bought some extra shots of espresso for his coffee. Kiku ordered chamomile tea.

Arthur walks him down the hall with stories of his new coworker who “specializes” in British literature but only really knows Sophie Kinsella of the Shopaholic series, and Kiku quietly panics. He has no real reason to, but he’s built it up so much in his mind that his worry feels like a snowball that’s picked up too much momentum to stop short of a brick wall.

They reach the food court, and Kiku very pointedly does not look at Yong Soo and Mei at their own restaurant. To his immense misfortune, Heracles is sitting at a stool at the registers, slumped against the counter with one elbow propping up his head.

“He looks like he could use a nap,” murmurs Arthur, but as they approach Heracles straightens himself to the point that Kiku remembers just how tall he is. And, er, how muscled. When he straightens his shoulders.

“Evening,” says Arthur, not looking at Heracles as he examines the menu. “I’ll take, er, the chicken kebab combo, please. Coca Cola. Side of tzatziki sauce instead of ketchup. Thanks.”

Heracles quietly punches it into the computer. “Nine sixty,” he says.

Arthur pays and steps aside for Kiku to order. Kiku spends another fifteen seconds staring at the board, as if he’s horribly indecisive.

“The gyro combo is good,” says Heracles.

Kiku finally meets Heracles’s eyes. Heracles looks as if he’s quietly considering something.

“The gyro combo, then, please,” says Kiku.

“Soda?”

“Ice tea, if you have it.”

“Four ninety.”

“What?” interjects Arthur from the side. “How come his combo is so much cheaper than mine?”

“Couples’ special,” says Heracles. He scoops up ice for the sodas and looks at neither of them. “When two people order combos and they’re dating, one of them gets it half priced.”

Kiku blinks. Does he think— _oh._

“We aren’t dating,” says Arthur tersely, “and even if we were, wouldn’t it be better to mention that up front?”

Heracles sets the sodas against their dispensers and looks between the two of them. Something in his eyes lightens. “My mistake,” he says, as if he’s talking about the weather. “But keep the discount.”

“Well, thank you,” Arthur grumbles when it becomes apparent Kiku isn’t going to. In fact, he doesn’t notice how red Kiku is until Kiku pays and they sit at the closest table to wait for their food. “Are…you alright?” asks Arthur.

“Fine,” says Kiku.

“Sorry, was I too brash back there? I just think it’s a bloody stupid thing not to mention, especially since mine was more expensive—”

“He thought we were dating.”

“Ah.” Arthur looks taken aback. “Ah, well. Sorry, Kiku. I just thought you were, you know, about as straight as I am. Maybe neither of us are especially open about it, but I didn’t think it would bother you.”

Arthur is about as straight as loudly protesting being matched with Alfred for Seven Minutes of Heaven but being the first to reach the closet door. Arthur is about as straight as stuffing a Victorian sonnet into Francis’s locker on Valentine’s Day and vividly denying it was written in his handwriting. Arthur is about as straight as the hentai URLs he whisper-requested from Kiku in homeroom, and the way his hands shook as he set his hand on Francis’s shoulder at prom last March. Arthur is decidedly _not straight._

“I really don’t think it’s fair for anyone to assume,” murmurs Kiku.

“What, who you’re dating? Well of course not. That’s another thing.”

Kiku meant his own sexuality, not his dating life, but Arthur has gotten himself started and Kiku is happy to let the topic ride out.

Heracles delivers the food to their table himself. Kiku won’t look him in the face and instead watches his hands as he sets the trays down. They’re all wide palms and long fingers, minimally hairy and well-defined. They look like artist’s hands. Kiku wonders if they would feel soft or calloused. He has no doubt they’d be dexterous.

As he takes a bite of his fries, Kiku thinks that he really dislikes when people understand something about him before he does.

* * *

 

Heracles never asks him another question about his sexuality. On the one hand, Kiku hates the fact that Heracles might have assumed more than he has a right to. On the other hand, Kiku is happy to explore new topics in their micro-conversations.

The next time Heracles sees him after the couples’ combo fiasco, he asks Kiku if he has many friends.

“You saw Arthur,” says Kiku. “And then my best friend is named Alfred. I suppose by proxy his boyfriend Ivan is also a friend now.” He stops himself when he sees Heracles’s eyebrows raise at the word “boyfriend”.

“There’s also Elizaveta,” Kiku is quick to add, lest Heracles think he surrounds himself with gay men. “She and I are—were in the newspaper club together.”

“You were a writer?”

“More of a photographer.”

“Have you ever tried traditional art?”

“Once in middle school. I can sketch a little.” Kiku used to have plans to make it big as a doujinshi artist. This dream was partly in response to Alfred’s grandiose dreams of becoming an astronaut. It’s hard to keep up with someone who dreams big and impossibly, without coming up with big and impossible dreams. His new dream feels equally impossible, but a little more his style.

“I used to do pottery,” Heracles says.

“Used to?”

“Now I draw.”

Kiku senses the topic has been closed despite that it was barely introduced. He nods goodbye.

Three days later, Heracles asks him when he’s going to university.

“Next year,” says Kiku. “But how did you know I was going to university?”

“I assumed. You seem studious.”

“I was. But I need to save money for tuition.”

“So you’re working at Wok ‘n’ Roll.”

“Yes,” says Kiku.

“I’m sure that was your first choice.”

“Only choice. My uncle owns it.”

“Your uncle is Yao?”

“You know him?”

“A little. Sadik—my boss—knows him better. He’s nice. A bit competitive. Hard-headed.”

“I’m…sorry to hear it.”

Heracles shrugs. “So is Sadik.”

It takes Heracles a full two weeks to ask what Kiku is planning to study.

“Architecture,” says Kiku.

Heracles, for the first time in Kiku’s memory, looks impressed.

“Why?” he asks.

“I like math.”

“Math isn’t the only part of architecture. Not even the main part.”

“Oh?”

“Art is.”

“I was never very good at art.”

“You’re a photographer. You sketch.”

“I used to, yes.”

“So why architecture, then?”

Kiku ponders. “…Because I want to understand art. But I can only do it through math.”

“I doubt that.”

Kiku can’t help but feel a little defensive. “I suppose you have a better reason for studying architecture.”

“You misunderstood me,” says Heracles. “That’s my fault. You have a good reason, but I doubt that you don’t understand art.”

“Ah.” Kiku waits a moment for an explanation, but doesn’t get one. “Why is that?”

“Otherwise you wouldn’t want to be an architect.”

* * *

 

Halfway through the summer, Yong Soo corners Kiku as they’re closing.

“Have you checked the grill?” asks Kiku, knowing fully well that Yong Soo never cleans it.

“You’re killing us here, Kiku,” says Yong Soo.

“Yao said we should be taking better care of it.”

“This isn’t about that. You and Heracles are moving _way_ too slow.”

Kiku saw Heracles only yesterday; Mei extracted the usual information from him, about what they talked about (an article Heracles read on an excavation in Rome), who started the conversation (Heracles), and how long it lasted (two minutes). Kiku is now used to these reports and has accepted it as another quirk of working with family.

“Leon wanted to let you figure it out, but Mei and I outnumbered him, so here it is.” Yong Soo takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to deliver life-changing news. “You need to start asking him questions.”

“…Noted.” Kiku tries to push past him to wipe off the counters again.

“No, Kiku, listen,” says Yong Soo, following him into the front. “This is the first time—well, that we know of, anyway—that someone’s flirting with you, and you’re just—not doing _anything!_ ”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any bets about this, would you?”

For a second, Yong Soo is speechless. As quickly as the moment arrives, it’s gone. “Noooooo,” he says, “we just want you to be happy. Live a little! You’re not in school, you don’t have any excuses anymore!”

“You realize that Heracles and I are…only barely friends?” Kiku hesitates to categorize their relationship. They speak often, but only superficially, and if Kiku takes longer than he’d like to admit to look at Heracles’s hands, well, then that’s his own business. And if Heracles has begun to loop his thumbs in his pockets and leave his hands out instead of crossing them behind his back as he once did, well, then that’s a convenient coincidence. They’re just nice hands.

“He looks for you,” says Yong Soo. “First thing he does when he shows up for work is lean over to see who’s working here today. Mei thinks he’s figuring out the trash schedule, too.”

“He’s worked near us long enough.”

“He’s been here two years, and he only started overlapping his breaks this much when you started. Hell, before you started he mostly just read books at the register. Now he looks out!”

Two years. Reading books. Kiku didn’t know these things. He reflects on Yong Soo’s opening statement—not about them going too slow, but about how Kiku needs to start asking questions—and realizes that for the month and a half he and Heracles have been talking, Heracles has always been the one with the opening. Every time.

What kind of only-barely-friend is Kiku to leave things so lopsided?

He sighs. “I do have some questions for him, I suppose.”

“YES!” Yong Soo holds out his hand for a high-five, but Kiku only looks at it. Yong Soo quickly turns it into a fist pump. “You won’t regret it, Kiku! And then you two will start dating by Thanksgiving and Leon can _kiss my ass_ and pay up!”

Kiku normally suppresses the urge to throw wet rags at his cousins, but tonight, for Yong Soo, he chooses to make an exception.

* * *

 

If Kiku doesn’t ask today, immediately, he’s never going to ask.

“Why did you stop doing pottery?”

Heracles turns his head from the sky and looks at Kiku with eyes slightly wider than usual. Kiku would bet that Heracles didn’t even hear him open the door.

“…My mother used to do pottery,” says Heracles. He says the sentence with a light sigh.

“And…she was skilled?”

“Very skilled. I’ll never be her equal.”

“Perhaps one day. There’s still time for her to teach you.”

“No. There isn’t.”

Kiku has to think through the implications of that sentence. The conclusion hits him all at once, and he flushes.

“That’s unfortunate,” he says quietly.

“It is,” says Heracles. They stand there for a few moments, Kiku with the trash bag dangling from his hand.

“Thank you,” Heracles adds.

“For what?” Kiku is wallowing in embarrassment that the most casual question he could think of turned out to be the most devastating.

“For not apologizing.”

“I am sorry, though.”

“But there’s no need to say it. Cancer killed her, not you. Non-smoker’s lung cancer,” clarifies Heracles, as if Kiku was going to be rude enough to delve deeper into this topic. He reaches into his back pocket and rattles a half-full box of cigarettes. “I quit the day of the funeral. It’s wrong, that I get to live and she doesn’t.”

Kiku imagines his own mother. She’s always tired—as a nurse, she has to be—but she’s good to him. He senses, though, that Heracles’s mother was more than a good mother. So Kiku can’t empathize.

Still.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, nodding to the cigarettes.

Heracles closes his eyes and puts the cigarettes away. “That’s what I tell the people who apologize.”

Kiku crosses his path and tosses the garbage bag in the dumpster. He’s getting good at this; he just needed to be comfortable enough with Heracles nearby to work on his momentum.

“Why do you carry them?” asks Kiku, gesturing to the cigarette box in Heracles’s back pocket. Heracles’s eyes are still closed, facing the sun, but Kiku knows he understands the question.

Heracles opens one eye. “That’s a question for tomorrow.”

* * *

 

As the heat of summer builds and culminates in August, Kiku finds he only has a month left before Arthur goes to school. They eat dinner in the food court every week or so, but always at a different restaurant. Kiku faces his back to the Greek restaurant as often as he can. He and Arthur talk pleasantly about customers, coworkers, the classes Arthur plans to take, the expense of moving abroad but the fortune it would cost to attend school in America. Both of them know that pain, Arthur in the abstract and Kiku with every minimum wage hour he prepares yakitori and stir fry.

At the beginning of August, Alfred comes back from football training. He got a sports scholarship to attend university in the next town over, at the expense of near-constant training. He swears he’ll visit Kiku when he can, but Kiku suspects he would keep that promise better if Ivan were also in town instead of attending Alfred’s same university.

Alfred joins Arthur and Kiku for dinner on his first night back. They eat Philly cheesesteaks from the restaurant on the far end of the food court, and Alfred slurps his extra-large soda while regaling them with tales of coaches and his new campus.

Arthur’s university seemed so abstract to Kiku, but hearing about Alfred’s new adventure so vividly strikes him in the heart. He could have this, will have this, the study parties and loud dormitories and strict but fascinating professors—but he has to wait.

“So Kiku,” says Alfred between slurps and French fries, “I can’t help but notice you have a spy.”

“Sorry?” asks Kiku.

“At the Greek restaurant over there. Tall, dark curly hair, kind of buff, sitting at the registers. You know him?”

Arthur looks for him, but Kiku doesn’t. “Why? What’s his expression?” asks Kiku, trying to sound nonchalant.

Alfred furrows his brow and cocks his head. “What do you want it to be?”

“Kiku, I think he’s talking about the man who gave us that discount,” says Arthur. “Or…gave _you_ that discount, I suppose.” Arthur is belatedly putting some pieces together. Meanwhile, Alfred looks absolutely delighted.

“Kiku,” he says, “do you have a _boyfriend?_ ”

Kiku sputters. “He’s not a—I don’t— _no,_ ” he objects, but Alfred laughs so loudly that if Heracles wasn’t looking just then, he and half the food court are now.

“Oh man, I was worried about you hanging out with just your cousins all day,” says Alfred, “but I mean, if you’re happy and he’s happy, then that’s awesome.”

“I think I understand why you were so upset he thought the two of us were dating,” says Arthur. Alfred lets out another chortle and wipes a tear from behind his glasses. “Kiku, why didn’t you mention? We could have eaten more at the kebab place, I wouldn’t have minded—”

“He is _not_ my boyfriend,” says Kiku. “Even my cousins will tell you that, though they seem to be trying very hard to set us up.” He says this last part quietly, though not quietly enough that Alfred and Arthur don’t hear.

“How so?” asks Arthur.

“They send me out to talk to him,” says Kiku. “I think they have a bet on when we’ll date.”

“Can I get in on that?” asks Alfred. Kiku and Arthur both look at him with a deadpan expression that makes Alfred reconsider.

“Well, are you…interested?” asks Arthur.

“We’re friends,” says Kiku. “I take out the trash, and we ask each other questions.”

“You talk by the dumpsters?” asks Alfred. “Like, he meets you there?”

“He takes his break. It’s a coincidence.”

“Convenient time to take a break,” mutters Alfred.

“Well…er, keep us posted, if you feel like it,” says Arthur. “I wouldn’t want to push you into anything like _some_ people”—he glares at Alfred—“but we’re here for you if you need advice. Or to talk.”

“I bet he and Ivan have a lot of the same tastes, if you need help in that area,” adds Alfred.

Kiku looks so horrified by that assumption that Arthur snorts into his lemonade.

* * *

 

September comes, and Alfred and Arthur leave. Since Arthur’s flight is the day after he finishes work and Kiku is working the closing shift, Arthur comes by the restaurant to offer Kiku a handshake and wish him luck.

“A bit of advice, if you’ll let me,” says Arthur, his eyes flickering vaguely to the Greek restaurant. “You have a whole year to prepare yourself for life. But that doesn’t mean you have to postpone living.”

“…Did you read a poetry book, Arthur?”

“No, I made that up on the way over,” says Arthur, looking quite pleased with himself. “How’d it go?”

Kiku smiles politely. “The literature program will be lucky to have you.”

The rest of the shift passes uneventfully. Yong Soo actually cleans the grill because Yao is coming over for inspection tomorrow, which means Kiku needs to stall for time before he and Yong Soo can leave. Of his own free will, he takes out the trash not only for their restaurant, but for the trash can in the dining area closest to their restaurant. He’s trying to make new work friends, and he figures the janitors are as good a place to start as any.

Heracles is outside, illuminated by the single street lamp beside the dumpster.

“Arthur left today?” he asks.

“Yes. He goes back to England for university tomorrow.” Kiku passes him and throws the bag away.

“Is he excited?”

“Of course.”

“Are you jealous?”

Kiku pauses. “No,” he ventures.

“I would be.”

Kiku turns around and examines Heracles. Heracles is examining a constellation that Kiku can’t make out beside the artificial light.

“I was in university for a bit,” says Heracles. “I studied philosophy. Minored in art. My mother thought it should be the other way around.”

“Why did you stop?” asks Kiku. He hopes that this is something Heracles wants him to ask, that he isn’t intruding.

“My mother got sick. I left to take care of her.”

“I…didn’t realize it was so recent.”

“I’ve been a drop-out for almost two years.”

Kiku nods. He wonders if he should offer anything like help or advice. He barely remembers his own father’s death, and his mother only drinks a heavy drink disguised as a toast on the anniversary of the car crash. But he feels like he owes something more than abstract sympathy to Heracles, who asks him questions and watches after him and quietly disappoints him when Kiku takes out the trash and he’s not there.

Instead of saying anything, Kiku stands and watches the stars with Heracles.

“It’s not all bad,” says Heracles after a few minutes. “Living like this. My university had more light pollution. And fewer strays.”

“Strays?” asks Kiku. Heracles doesn’t say anything, but his head tilts downward and towards Kiku. Or rather, towards his feet. Kiku looks down and then around, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a small shadow duck underneath the dumpster.

“I don’t know where she goes in summer,” breathes Heracles. “But she comes back here in fall.”

Kiku waits, breathless, for her to come back out again. After a few minutes, his patience and stillness is rewarded; a calico cat with a patch over one eye, so perfect that she looks fresh from an illustration, slowly crawls out from under the dumpster. She trots past Kiku and to Heracles, and rubs her arched back against his legs with a gentle purr.

“I call her Artemis,” says Heracles. Slowly, slowly, he leans himself against the wall and slides down. The cat sits beside him and offers her head to be scratched. “I didn’t know until she had kittens that she shouldn’t have the name of a virgin goddess. But it’s still a good fit. She’s quite a hunter.”

Kiku stares at the two of them, bathed in the neon white light of the streetlamp. He’s reminded of the utter peace on Heracles’s face when he first saw him on that early summer day. Something twists in his gut, something hot that restricts his breathing. Their entire relationship so far has been based on talking, but now that they’ve reached this point—where they don’t have to talk, where they’re still on good terms even without words, where Kiku stands a decent chance at being allowed to sit down beside Heracles and his stray cat and watch the stars—Kiku feels like they’ve been having an entirely unspoken conversation all along.

Kiku knows that they really are friends now, and he also knows that they could be more than that.

Burning with shock and embarrassment, Kiku nods goodnight and flees to the door as quickly as he can without frightening the cat.

* * *

 

Heracles doesn’t bring up Kiku’s sudden departure the next time they see each other. He also doesn’t invite Kiku to meet him after another night shift; Kiku notices that and tries not to interpret it as a sign of rejection.

Alfred told him. Arthur told him, and so did Leon, Mei, and Yong Soo. They all said that Heracles was interested in him, and they all assumed that Kiku was interested back. Well, now he was. Painfully so, to the point that he would actively seek out customers to help when one of his cousins came up to him with the trash bag, so as to avoid dealing with it.

After a few days of this, Leon confronts him. “You’re acting weird again. What happened now?”

“Again? What other time was weird?”

“The first time you met him. And the day after you and Arthur first got kebab. Plus the day you and Alfred and Arthur all had dinner.”

“I’m not acting weird,” says Kiku quietly, though not even he believes it.

“Look, did Heracles ask you something too personal again?”

“No, he…” Kiku sighs. “He showed me his cat.”

“His cat.”

“Yes.”

“…Is this a metaphor for something?”

“ _No,_ ” intones Kiku. “There’s a cat that visits him in the fall. She’s a calico cat. Her name is Artemis.”

“…And?”

“And. Well. Never mind.” Kiku slips into the back to do dishes.

Leon follows him. “Were you _impressed_ by the cat? Why is the cat important?”

“It was…nice.”

“The cat was nice.”

“Everything. Everything was nice.”

“Kiku, you have to help me out here.”

“I wanted to sit next to him.”

Leon looks like he’s about to press for more details, but then he notices the way Kiku focuses fixedly on the wok he’s scrubbing. He puts some pieces together. “You don’t like to sit close to anyone,” says Leon finally.

“Exactly.”

“…Are you panicking?”

“If you’re worried about the bet—”

“Forget about the bet, okay? That’s just for fun. It’s so boring around here.”

“You get to go back to school in a week. I stay here.”

“You’ll have more drama to share on the weekends, then. If you want. Look,” says Leon, leaning against the wall beside the sink. “All personal interest aside, we—or I, at least—think this Heracles thing is good for you.”

“A dating life isn’t everything.”

“No, but it’s more than going to work every day and playing video games every night.”

“I’m happy with that.”

“I bet you are.”

Kiku washes some spoons. He sighs. “That being said, I am…curious.”

“Behold, he has emotions after all,” says Leon, sprouting a grin. “Well, good news, he’s been flirting with you since day one. You just have to take the next step.”

“Me?” Kiku asks. The spoon he’s washing slips his grasp.

“He’s taking things slow, you know. Leaving lots of openings.”

“But why me?”

“Because you’re the first-timer here.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

Leon gives him such a deadpan look that Kiku thinks he could only have learned it from Arthur. “Trust me. He knows.”

* * *

 

Kiku works up the nerve after three days of practicing “would you like to go on a date?” in a mirror. He has no idea what sort of date it will be; despite all assurances to the contrary, he can barely imagine a “yes”, let alone an actual date.

He takes out the trash four times on the day he swore he would ask out Heracles. After the third time, he supposes Heracles isn’t working that day, but he takes out a tiny load just once before closing to be sure.

The next day, Heracles still isn’t in the alley. Kiku starts to wonder.

By the fourth day of Heracles’s absence, Kiku does the unthinkable. He goes to the Greek restaurant.

The only man working there is the one whom Kiku supposes is Sadik. He’s tall and tan and with more evident muscles than Heracles, and he’s considerably louder.

“Excuse me,” says Kiku. Sadik looks up from his newspaper and immediately recognizes Kiku.

“You must be the reason Heracles is giving out discounts.”

“Excuse me?” asks Kiku.

“June 15,” says Sadik. “You came with your blond friend with the big eyebrows, and Heracles gave you half off. He said he thought you were dating.”

“I believe he made a mistake,” says Kiku. He’s trying hard not to dwell on that topic; if Sadik is this bitter about losing money because of Kiku, Kiku may not get the answer he needs. “On a related topic, I meant to ask if Heracles is feeling well. I haven’t seen him lately.”

“Ah. Yeah, it’s the anniversary. He has the week off.” Sadik straightens his paper and continues to read. He grumbles under his breath, “Left me alone, the bastard…”

“Ah…if I could just ask one more question,” says Kiku. “What is ‘the anniversary’?”

“Of his mom. She died two years ago this week. Damn kid gets to be a wreck this time of year. Believe me, I learned last year.”

Kiku blinks. He had no idea. “I’m…so sorry to hear that. If you see him this week, please tell him I hope he’s well.”

Sadik sighs. He sets down his paper again. “Look. Kiku, is it?”

Kiku nods. He’s never spoken to Sadik before, nor have his cousins, to his knowledge. That means either Heracles or Yao has mentioned him to this older man.

“You seem nice. And also young. So just…ask yourself, for a second, why this guy who’s three years older than you is flirting with someone who just got out of high school.”

Kiku politely remains silent, pretending to mull it over. In reality, he doesn’t have any idea what Sadik means by this, though the more he reflects, the heavier his stomach feels.

“Heracles is a mess,” says Sadik. “I loved his mother like my best friend, and I gave him a job because of that, but when she died it was like she killed him too. Not that he was ever all ‘there’ to begin with, but he hasn’t even tried going back to college. He’s just living in her house, dusting her pottery. He works as much as he has to, and he takes ridiculously long breaks when he can. That’s not the kind of guy who should be starting a relationship. Especially not with what your uncle tells me about you.”

Uncle? Heracles hasn’t spoken about him, then. For some reason, that hurts Kiku more than anything else Sadik has said so far.

“Smart kid like you, you shouldn’t waste your life working here. Not like I’m doing, and not like Heracles is going to do.” Sadik smooths out the wrinkles in his newspaper. “Just get the money you need and get out.”

Kiku takes a deep breath. He nods. He steps away from the counter and past the rest of the stalls, ignoring even his family’s, where Mei and Leon watch him leave with confusion and concern. Kiku was supposed to wait for Mei to finish her shift and drive him home in an hour, but he doesn’t feel able to sit still.

He walks the two miles home.

* * *

He sees Heracles five days later. He doesn’t look as if he’s been grieving.

“Are you well?” asks Kiku.

Heracles frowns. Kiku’s tone is less of a friend’s and more of a work acquaintance’s. “Yes,” he says.

“I’m glad.” Kiku steps to the dumpster and tosses the bag in. He just barely misses the opening, and the bag bounces off the rim. He stoops down to pick it up.

“I missed you,” says Heracles quietly.

Kiku freezes. Breathes through his nostrils. Straightens.

“I’m sorry,” Kiku says.

“It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Of course.” Kiku tosses the bag into the dumpster—it goes in this time—and steps across Heracles’s path and back to the door.

“Kiku,” says Heracles.

Kiku turns, his hand on the door handle.

“Did I do something wrong?” Heracles asks.

“No.”

“You’re acting like I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t,” says Kiku.

“Oh. Then…would you like to come later tonight? To see Artemis.”

Kiku’s heart clenches at the irony. It was he who was supposed to ask that, just two weeks ago.

“I wish I could,” says Kiku, and he tries not to mean it. “But I need to study tonight.”

“You’re not in school anymore. Or yet.”

“I can’t let this year go to waste.”

Heracles looks like he’s going to press the issue, or ask something else. After a few seconds’ consideration, he doesn’t. He nods slowly and turns his face back to the sky. He shifts his jacket to wrap it more around him.

When Kiku next takes out the trash, on a day he knows Heracles is working, he feels nothing of Heracles’s presence but the lingering stench of cigarette smoke.

* * *

 

The more he mulls it over—and he has _plenty_ of time to mull it over, between solo shifts (or shifts with Yao, which are about the same) and video games and textbooks he pretends to study—Kiku feels like he’s wronged Heracles. As an only-barely-friend, he should help Heracles with his grief, however possible or impossible that may be. He should keep talking to him, coax him out of grief or at least into a more functional state of grief. Heracles doesn’t even sound as damaged as Sadik made him out to be, although Kiku supposes Sadik would know more about the matter than he would.

But Kiku is not the patient, graceful presence Heracles needs. He’s no savior. He’s just…Kiku, the boy who makes sense of the world with numbers and patterns that he can’t piece together in real life. The boy who wants to design buildings that make people sigh in awe, so he can one day show the world that math and equations somehow make beautiful things. The boy who doesn’t have to stop his life before it’s even begun because he knows someone with beautiful hands and a calm, quietly passionate demeanor.

Just ten months left and this will all be behind him.

But in the meantime, that’s ten months of Leon and Mei and Yong Soo trading frowns and agreeing to take out the trash when Kiku politely asks them to. That’s ten months of his mother coming into his room to watch him play video games and puzzle over where his occasional small smiles went. Ten months of the same steam trays exchanged and the same rice cooked and the same customers lining up and demanding that Kiku smile, sell up, serve. Ten months of pretending not to see the calico cat under the dumpster.

Ten months of thinking how _selfish_ he is for refusing Heracles a friend because he wanted a boyfriend instead.

Kiku waits out the end of September and half of October before he tries taking out the trash again. It’s just to see how Heracles is doing, he rationalizes, as if Heracles has any reason to be worse off. But when he enters the alley, heart pounding, he sees no one.

He does, however, start seeing Heracles spend more of his breaks in the dining area. The first time he sees him, out of the corner of his eye as he mixes yakitori on the grill, he jolts and accidentally sends some of the side of cabbage to the floor. Heracles appears to be hunched over a book that rather resembles the ones Kiku used to take his university entrance exams.

Kiku’s heart leaps in his throat, but after twenty minutes of watching Heracles flipping idly through the pages, Kiku decides he’s not studying so much as browsing. He forces himself not to make much of it.

Heracles takes more and more of his breaks in the dining area, reading books the size of novels and of tomes and of study guides. Kiku considers asking Leon if this is what Heracles did before Kiku started working there, but he’s only just gotten his cousins’ minds off of what they perceive as a catastrophic breakup (which has somehow still not ended the bet, Kiku hears from Yao). Instead, he watches Heracles, silently supporting him and wondering what he’s reading.

One day towards Halloween, about a month and a half after Kiku refused Heracles’s offer to visit Artemis, Kiku is about to clock out when he hears a fight. A shouting match, more like, and thank goodness it’s during the dead period between lunch and dinner, because half the vendors are looking in the direction of the Greek restaurant.

Mei and Kiku look at each other and shrug their shoulders. Yong Soo, Kiku’s replacement, rushes through the back door.

“You gotta see this,” he says directly to Kiku. “Heracles and Sadik are having a _crazy_ fight!”

Kiku quickly punches his numbers into the register, shoves on his jacket, and leaves through the back door which spits him out right into the dining area between his family’s stall and Heracles’s. When he finally finds Heracles, eyes aflame and fists clenched, he realizes he’s never seen Heracles so expressive. Or so livid.

“What did you _expect_ me to do?” Heracles demands of Sadik, who’s so tense that Kiku can see a vein bulging from his neck. “I was _grieving._ ”

“You’ve been _grieving_ since the moment you heard she was sick, you idiot! You can’t let this derail your sad, pathetic little life any more than you already let it!”

“ _Me_ derailing? All this time I thought Kiku was angry with me for no reason, and then I find _you_ made me sound like some freak!”

“You’re preying on a kid!”

“He’s _not_ a kid! And if this is your sick way of manipulating me out of your hair so you don’t have to _pay_ me anymore—”

“I couldn’t manipulate you if I had a remote control to your _brain_ , you bastard! You never listen to anything I say, so I thought if somebody with some _sense_ —here, ask him!” Sadik catches sight of Kiku and thrusts his hand over the counter, where Kiku is doing a very poor impression of someone not listening in. “Ask him what I said!”

Heracles turns to look at Kiku, and after a moment all but the most simmering of anger disappears from his face. Kiku wonders if it’s because he looks frightened and Heracles is calming himself for Kiku’s sake; Kiku certainly feels frightened, even if he hopes he doesn’t look it. Heracles has always been so calm and, if not collected, then at least careful not to collapse. The fact that he’s angry about something to do with _Kiku_ only fills Kiku with anxiety.

“Kiku,” says Heracles. His teeth aren’t gritted, but they’re close. “Sadik says he told you to stay away from me. Is that true?”

“I—” Kiku can’t handle this right now. “Heracles, can we talk about this somewhere else?”

“I can’t trust anything this _geezer_ does behind my back,” he says, spitting the term at Sadik as if he means to say something far worse. “Did he tell you to stay away from me?”

“…It’s not a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.”

“What did he say.” Heracles is trying to loosen his fists, but the pure smugness of Sadik’s expression makes them tense seemingly of their own free will.

“He said I shouldn’t…waste my life here. Like him.”

“And me.”

Kiku clenches his eyes closed. He can’t lie. “And you.”

Heracles lets out a breath so long it rattles. “Thank you. I’ll be on my break.” Kiku can’t figure out who he’s telling, but Heracles ducks under the front counter before he can clarify. He stops in front of Kiku, who opens his eyes.

Heracles places his carton of cigarettes into Kiku’s hands. “Don’t let me see them again. It’s time I get past this.” He disappears through the general employee entrance that will lead him to the alley.

Kiku glances down at the carton, and then looks up to find Sadik staring at him thoughtfully.

“I wasn’t manipulating you,” says Sadik. “ _Him_ , maybe. But not you.”

Kiku nods. “If I could just make one suggestion.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t."

Kiku trudges out of the food court after that, away from Heracles and towards the exit that will take him home. He tosses the cigarette carton in the trash. He hears a single wolf whistle and knows without looking that it came from Yong Soo.

* * *

 

“Alright,” says Yao. He takes a sip from his Starbucks. “It’s Black Friday. Busiest shopping day of the year. Everyone’s going to be sick of Thanksgiving leftovers, so they’ll be ready to spend the rest of their shopping money on our food.”

“You should really give more pep talks,” drawls Leon as he slumps across the prep table. His Frappuccino is almost finished, and it’s only seven forty-five in the morning. “I feel inspired already.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” says Kiku, “but may I ask why Yong Soo isn’t here?”

“Food poisoning,” says Yao. “It seems _someone_ ”—he glares at Leon—“challenged him to a stuffing-eating contest.”

“In my defense, I lost,” retorts Leon. “Although I really don’t think the guy projectile-vomiting should be called the ‘winner.’”

“In any case, there’s only four of us against a whole horde of them,” says Yao, as if they’re talking about zombies and not customers who probably won’t even want lunch until ten at the earliest. “And we need to be doing our best today. Mei, you’re on prep work. Cutting, spicing, all of it.”

“Yes Dad.” Mei salutes.

“Leon, you’re register.”

“Can I bring this?” Leon lazily lifts up the remaining quarter of his Frappuccino.

“Keep it under the counter. Kiku, grill. There’ll be a lot of orders, so keep them separate, okay?”

Kiku nods minutely.

“I’ll be exchanging steamer trays and working on food for the assembly line when Leon can’t. Remember: ask if they want to upsize their drink, ask if they want sides, and for my sake, try to keep everything _clean_.”

“Yong Soo’s not here, so we can probably promise that,” says Mei.

“As much as three teenagers can promise that, anyway,” says Leon.

Yao looks at Kiku as if he’s grateful that at least someone is on his side. Kiku really isn’t—he thinks having to wake up this early for the possibility of a lunch rush is absurd—but now that his cousins are back in school, he works the most with his uncle these days, and they need to get along.

The three boys and men take their positions in the front while Mei starts chopping lettuce in the back. Leon rolls up the divider between their restaurant and the dining area, and Kiku’s eyes widen. Already people are sitting in the chairs, fanning themselves with mailer coupons and sprawling across tables covered in shopping bags. A few of them look hungrily at the grill.

“I guess he wasn’t exaggerating,” says Kiku to Leon.

“Yao talks things up, but he doesn’t exaggerate,” Leon replies. Kiku is too tired and nervous to worry about the difference.

The first few hours go smoothly enough. A few customers order snacks, and one or two order a full meal. The real rush starts at eleven, when bored families get out of bed and come to the mall with their relatives, hoping to escape the house to another place with central heating. The half dozen restaurants of the food court find themselves with looping lines.

Yao’s voice gets louder and sharper with every person that enters their line.

“Would you like to try a slice of egg roll while you wait—Kiku, the third from the right needs stirring—wait, ma’am, do you want to upsize your—Mei, we need more carrots—yes sir right away, more sauce—I’m afraid we don’t have _ketchup, you can get it from next—Kiku, stir the cabbage—thank you so much have a great day—chopsticks are at the far end when you get your food—Mei, carrots—Leon, you can throw that away when the line dies down—Kiku, STIR—MEI, CARROTS—_ ”

A sharp cry comes from the kitchen. Yao rushes back to where Kiku and Leon can both hear Mei sobbing.

After a few minutes, Yao comes out with his face a shade paler. “Mei cut off a bit of finger,” he murmurs to Leon and Kiku in a low volume that he hopes the customers can’t hear. “No bone, but you know how she is around blood. I have to take her to the hospital.”

“Good luck,” says Kiku. “She’ll be okay.”

“I know,” says Yao. He eyes the increasing flow of people entering the food court. “Good luck to you too. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Kiku enters some sort of overdrive. It’s tough for him to leave the grill, but he does as often as he feels he’s able. Leon can handle the registers and some of the restocking, but Mei’s prepped supplies only last half an hour before Kiku needs to divide his time between the grill and the back.

At twelve thirty, about halfway through the lunch rush, he smells smoke.

He lifts the lid off the grill, where he’s left a cabbage medley cooking, to find it blackened and greasy. He curses to himself and scrapes at it with his spatula, but the customer who bought this particular medley notices and starts loudly complaining about how negligent Kiku is, and where could he have been for so long, doesn’t he know people are starving here, and the customer wants a refund, which will mess up the whole assembly line because the next customer will be cut off and will complain too, and Kiku has forgotten the policy on giving away free food to placate customers, and a family with triplets just entered the line and when is it going to _end_ —

“Can I help?”

Kiku recognizes the voice, but it’s not speaking to him. Heracles has just tapped on Leon’s shoulder between customers. The woman who was about to order next scowls at Leon.

“Kiku, your call,” says Leon, turning to face the woman with as bright a smile as he can manage.

“Heracles?” asks Kiku. He stirs another round of yakitori.

“I mostly do prep while Sadik handles customers,” says Heracles. He’s still wearing the shirt advertising My Big Fat Greek Restaurant.

“Shouldn’t you be doing prep for Sadik _now?_ ” Kiku asks. He leans over the counter to glance at Sadik’s restaurant, which looks slightly less busy but still bustling.

“My shift’s over,” says Heracles with a shrug.

“I don’t know if Yao can pay you.”

“I don’t really care.”

Kiku takes a moment to wipe sweat from underneath his uniform-mandated cap and look at Heracles. He looks serious and a little defiant. It’s a new look for him, but a good one.

“Wash your hands,” says Kiku. “We need chopped onions, shredded cabbage, and a new pot of white rice. Can you fry rice?”

“Soy sauce and oil, right?”

“More or less. Call me when you heat the oil.”

Heracles nods and retreats into the back.

“And please put on an apron!” Kiku calls after him.

Over the next hour and a half, the lunch rush slowly, slowly abates. The minute they think they have no more customers, another family arrives, but with Heracles cleaning utensils and running prep, Kiku and Leon can afford to stay at their posts and only help him with the methods specific to Asian cuisine. Yao calls the restaurant at one point, and Leon responds with a glance in the back that they’re doing “surprisingly fine”. Kiku supposes that’s an apt descriptor.

Finally, around two fifteen, late lunch blends into early dinner and fewer people come up to order. Kiku has a moment to take his break and spends it leaning against the wall with the sink where Heracles is washing dishes.

“I find it hard to believe that Sadik decided to work the lunch rush by himself,” says Kiku.

“Well, Gupta’s home from college, so he’s a huge help,” says Heracles.

“Still. That’s only two people. Leon and I were also only two people.”

“Alright. And Sadik also owes me.”

“Owes you?” Kiku holds back that Sadik gave Heracles a job, if nothing else.

“The old man’s trying to run my life. And after our argument a few weeks ago, he’s starting to see it’s not the best idea.”

“I think bosses have to run your life, to an extent,” says Kiku as diplomatically as he can. He thinks that deep, deep down, Sadik wants what’s best for Heracles. He just lacks finesse in how to make him see that.

“Well, for one thing,” says Heracles as he transfers a knife to the antibacterial tub. “He made me lose my chance with you.”

“Your cha—ah,” says Kiku. He presses his lips shut, but for some reason, he still flusters.

“I even had the idea that I’d transfer to your school,” says Heracles, as if he’s said nothing too dramatic. “I was looking into the credit transfer system. They need some special exams my old school didn’t, but I could take them. But then I thought, at least Sadik was right about one thing.” His hands pause in the soapy water. “I _am_ wasting my life. I’m not the kind of person you should be dating.”

“Ah. So…” Kiku blushes even further. “Are you transferring?”

Heracles’s eyes flicker up to meet his. They’re green eyes, unfocused at times but currently gazing at Kiku, expecting nothing but welcoming anything. “Do you want me to?”

Kiku takes a breath. “You, ah. Asked me once. What gender I prefer.”

“I remember.”

“I didn’t know then. I still don’t know.”

Heracles nods.

“But I know I prefer you.”

At that moment, the phone across from Kiku rings. He and Heracles stare at it unwillingly, but only for a second before Leon reaches back for the phone and pulls it into the front. He looks behind him and gestures at Kiku with a “go on” wave of his hand.

“Hey Dad—yeah, things are still fine—Kiku’s just washing dishes and I’m cleaning—how’s Mei, doped up on pain meds?—cool, glad it’s not that serious, could you put her on for a sec—okay, thanks—what’s up loser, you’ll never guess what—no no, ‘loser’, baby sister, because _I just won the bet._ ”

* * *

 

_August, next year_

“So this is it, then?”

“I guess so,” says Heracles. Beside him, Kiku watches solemnly. He wonders how Sadik will handle this moment.

Sadik appears to be resigned to it. “That’s be three years of retail work, kid.”

“Yes, and I know you’ll Turk up the place the minute I’m gone.”

“About time.” Sadik offers Heracles a raw smirk and then—to the surprise of both Heracles and Kiku—a bear hug and no less than three pats on the back. “You take care of yourself. New school’s more advanced than the old one, might kick your ass.”

“After working for you, my ass can take anything.”

“Good.” Sadik lets go of Heracles and offers a handshake to Kiku. Kiku’s getting better about being touched by Heracles, but he never did manage to be comfortable with Sadik, and Sadik is working on it.

“You take care of him too,” says Sadik. “I don’t trust him not to completely forget his hygiene.”

Heracles and Kiku look at each other. Heracles isn’t going to mention Kiku’s three-day-long video games binges if Kiku doesn’t mention Heracles’s tendency to forget to eat. At least they have twice-a-week movie nights together to recalibrate themselves.

“I’ll do my best,” says Kiku. He offers Sadik one firm pump before letting go of his hand. He’s working on it too.

“Alright, go on, get out of here,” says Sadik. “You have a long drive ahead of you.”

“I know, you just can’t wait to see me go,” says Heracles. “Come on, Kiku.” He gestures towards the exit.

“Uh, idiot,” says Sadik. “It’s that way.” He points in the opposite direction.

“We have something to take care of over here,” says Heracles. Kiku has already passed him and opened the door, so Heracles only offers Sadik a shrug before following his boyfriend.

After passing through another door to the outside, the two of them sit side by side against the brick wall. The dumpster has just been emptied, and the sun is warm and bright.

“Do you think she’ll come?” Heracles asks when they’ve waited for a good half hour.

“She has to,” says Kiku. _It’s her last chance_ floats between them unsaid.

They wait until nearly sunset. For all the times he’s sat out here, Kiku has never taken the time to count the bricks on the wall across from them. He’s always been helping Heracles study or sharing a book of ancient Greek architecture with Heracles or, on one memorable Valentine’s Day, receiving his first kiss from Heracles. This alley has provided him with nothing but contentedness, and now, if they don’t hurry, their last memory here will be one of disappointment.

Kiku can make out the first star of the night sky when they hear Artemis mewl.

Both of them stand the moment they hear it, but Heracles reaches her first. After letting her sniff his feet and rub herself against his legs, he slowly leans down and lifts her up.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispered.

“Do you think she wants to go with us?” asks Kiku.

“Her children are grown,” says Heracles. “I think that at this point in her life, she’d like to have a nice home with sunlight on the floor.”

“She’ll forget my scent. With me in the dorms and you in the transfer student apartments.”

Heracles turns and raises an eyebrow at Kiku. “Are you going to stop coming over once we move there?”

Kiku shakes his head.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” Heracles crosses the single step between them and places his hand in Kiku’s. “Let’s say goodbye.”

“I’ve said my goodbyes,” says Kiku. “Have you?”

“To everywhere but here.”

Kiku pauses. He supposes this odd alleyway with a dumpster deserves a farewell. Without it, he would never have met the one person who looks at him and sees passion as well as rationality, art as well as architecture.

Kiku hears purring, and looks at Artemis to find she’s looking back at him.

“Thank you,” he says to the alleyway. It feels a little silly, but he’s honestly grateful. He scratches Artemis under the neck and looks up at Heracles. “Now let’s go.”


End file.
